


Hell on Earth

by Davechicken, ElDiablito_SF



Series: Paradiso [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Religious Content, Supernatural style death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up where 'Hunger' left off, Hadrian agrees to help the team travel back in time to when God was more physically and emotionally available.  But like everything else on Supernatural, there is a price for getting God's help, and it's a price Crowley might not be willing to pay.</p><p>(Do not be put off by the warnings... have a little faith.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell on Earth

After several - torturous and argumentative - hours, Crowley and Hadrian came to an arrangement. It was not one agreed upon lightly, and it was not one Crowley was best pleased with. However, it was the only thing that made any sense and they shook on it with wary respect and self-preservation instinct firmly in place. Crowley respected the man - angel’s - loyalty to his fallen lover, though, and he wondered if all angels were as devout in their romancing. He could only hope they were.

Crowley’s first reaction was to want to get ridiculously drunk. He even found a bar and stared at it for long moments before he decided against it. It was a tough decision… but this was something he needed to do sober, or he wouldn't do it at all. He put his hand in his pocket to find the key that always sat there, the key which had an identical twin which was always in Castiel’s grasp. He warmed his own key and waited for Cas to feel the heat in his and let him through the demon-traps all over Chateau Winchester. As soon as the door was open, he apparated inside the joined suites of their hotel with a flourish.

He was less than impressed to find the trio not hard at work, but lounging around doing boring _human_ things. If he had to risk life and limb to talk to a demented ex-Angel ex-Emperor, the least they could do would be to look like they were grateful and waiting for him when he turned up.

“Hello, boys.”

Castiel had been ass up on one of the beds, staring at the television as if it was some kind of a channel for divination that at any given moment would tell him the future. His face was propped up in his hands and his bare feet hovered somewhere in the vicinity of Dean’s face, who was also propped up against the pillows on the same bed, stuffing his face with - yes, well if that wasn’t gauche as hell - a hamburger. Crowley had no idea where the Philistine even found such a thing in Paris, or, for that matter, why he hadn’t just zapped them all back to the bunker long ago.

“You’ve been gone so long, I was afraid something had happened to you,” Cas exclaimed and tried to roll off the bed gracefully (failing completely and ending up sprawled on his ass). He hiccupped and smiled up at Crowley from the floor. “I might have gotten a little drunk waiting for you. The wine is just so good here.”

“What’s the word, Crowley?” Dean mumbled, chewing lazily, but deigning to turn his attention to the new arrival.

So Cas was drunk. In bed. With Dean. There were going to be words. None of them would be nice. "Where's the Abominable Snowball?"

"Sorry," came a voice from somewhere. "Be right there."

"You enjoying videos of women of dubiously negotiable affection, Sasquatch?" Crowley turned off all the audio-visual equipment with a snap of fingers.

"No. Books," Sam said peering around the door of the adjoining suite. "...'Sup?"

"Well whilst you've all been having fun, I - as you know - have been risking my hide to finalise this deal." He paused. For effect. And because he was still a little peeved. Okay... a lot. Hadrian had that effect on him. 

Cas finally manage to resemble a biped again and ambled over towards Crowley, draping his lanky limbs over him and pressing in closer.

“You’re beautiful and I missed you,” the former angel declared with a look of consternation which could have been called ‘sober’ had its possessor not been so very the opposite.

“You look pissed off,” Dean remarked from the bed. “I mean, more than usual.”

Cas had leaned in for a kiss, hand quickly wrapping around the paisley-blue tie and tugging on it. His breath smelled of bordeaux, and not in an entirely unappealing way (it was a very expensive bordeaux).

“I’m happy you’re safe,” Cas swayed a little before finally planting one right on Crowley’s slightly open mouth.

Crowley was pissed off. He was, however, somewhat mollified by the ostentatious shows of affection. He graciously let Cas kiss him, a hand moving to rest on his lover's ass and hold him close.

He even let out a low moan. Mostly to dick with the brothers.

Sam just came in and dropped onto the bed where Cas had been and stole some of Dean's fries. "They'll stop if we ignore them," he decided, but his tone was less than certain.

When the kiss finally did break, Crowley pinched a sizeable amount of butt and then kept hold. He wanted Cas close for this. "Of course you missed me," he said, and no one but Cas (and possibly Sam) would hear anything but that in his tone.

Then he turned to the brothers Grimm and decided he was just going to have to say it. "Hadrian's offered to send an envoy back to a time when God was less... conspicuous in his absence, shall we say..."

"He can do that?" Sam asked. "And - wait - what?"

"With difficulty," Crowley admitted. "And only two humans... it’s one of the reasons I was gone so long. He is also wary of visiting God in his wrathful parent stage - understandably so, I might add - and he said there's no other thing he can think of. Only his obsessive and tragic love affair with his chiseled marble boy would persuade him to even suggest we try this." A shrug. "So now you get to fight amongst yourselves who gets to meet Daddy Dearest."

"There's no need to fight," Dean slid off the bed, the burger forgotten, that look of purpose in his eyes that meant you'd better get on board or get out of his way. "Sammy and I are going."

"Now, hold on just a second," Cas looked as if it was a bit difficult for him to focus his eyes, so he pointed a militant finger towards his friend. "It's God we're talking about here. As in, _my_ Father, not yours. If we were going back in time to meet John Winchester," he paused for emphasis, which resulted in another hiccup, "Then I'd be all - _be my guest_. But." Cas paused again, seemingly trying to collect his thoughts. 

"He's gonna smite your ass. Your ass too," added turning towards Sam. "I think it's pretty obvious that I need to go." He leaned back, using Crowley as a buttress. "I should not have drank the last of that wine," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Crowley pulled Cas tight to his side. "As much as I agree that it is your father and not Dean's... I'm not all that happy about sending you off with another angel where I can't go." It sort of pained him to admit that in public, but... well.

"I... agree with Cas," Sam said, looking from one to the other and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I mean... Cas knows God. None of us have ever... you know. Met him. And would he even talk to us? Isn't he more likely to talk to one of his angels?"

Crowley pulled Cas in tighter still, eyes narrowing at Sam. It was a gesture which clearly said 'back off, Moose, and stop poaching my boyfriend'. All the Hadrian-talking had made him... a little more conscious of Castiel's current frailty. "No."

"What the hell do you mean 'no'?" Dean snapped. "And fine - Sam, Cas - point taken. Cas and I will go." He crossed his arms, signaling the end of discussion, and fixed Crowley with a stubborn look. 

“Do you really think,” Crowley started, his hackles going up, “that I will trust you with the only important thing in my miserable afterlife, Dean Winchester? I’ve seen how good care you take of Castiel. You only look after him when it doesn’t interfere with your own selfish needs. He’s mine and I’m not going to let you leave him in Biblical times just because you forgot you left the oven on and you think it might burn Sammy’s cheese on toast.”

“Uhm… Crowley… Dean would look after Cas,” Sam tried to cut in.

“I don’t trust him.” There was something dark and nasty in the demon’s eyes when he spoke. Something ugly like fear.

"I do," Cas turned around in Crowley's arms, blue eyes shining with a touch of deep innocence despite all they had seen. 

"I'll take care of Cas," Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "You know, you don't have a monopoly on giving a shit about him."

"I trust him," Cas repeated quietly. "And I have to go - you know it has to be me." He could see the worry, the fear in his lover's features. He wanted to erase it, to kiss it away. That feeling was... sobering. 

Crowley put his hands on Cas’ hips. He studied his face from close up, giving far too much away in the process. He’d already laid his cards out on the table. In front of everyone. He’d already fucked up rather badly in the ‘enigmatic and unknowable demon’ game. Now he just looked like a terrified, selfish and jealous lover. Well. Fuck.

“I can’t lose you,” he told Cas. “I can’t. I won’t.” His eyes pleading with him to change his mind, even though he knew deep down in his heart it was a losing battle. He knew it made logical sense for Cas to go. Maybe even for Dean to be the one who went with him. But logic was not what gripped him inside like a vise. Maybe they should just go off and argue this in private? 

Sam, wisely, sensed some of that. He’d seen Crowley in worse states than this, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. “Dean… c’mon. Let’s go talk about what you need to not say in front of God so you don’t end up blasted out of existence, huh?”

For a moment, it looked like Dean was about to protest: he opened his mouth and raised his hand, poised to deliver a harangue à la Dean, then closed it and shrugged.

“Yeah, okay, Sammy.” He turned to follow his brother out of the hotel room, when he stopped and turned around to face Crowley once more. “Look, I _won’t_ let anything happen to him, alright? He’s… he’s Cas.” Then he cleared his throat and followed Sam out the door.

Castiel followed the brothers out with his eyes, head tilted to the side in contemplation. When the door shut, he allowed Crowley to pull him in closer again and refocused on his lover’s quickly darting eyes. The buzz from the wine was fading, but he still felt a certain warmth in his belly from where the bordeaux was adding liquid courage to the courage that was already innate. 

“You won’t lose me. Come on.” Cas tried to coax the demon out of the state that he seemed to have descended into. “I can take care of myself. And besides, I’ve been looking for God for so long, I _need_ this, I need to do this. For myself.” He pressed his lips against Crowley’s temple and wrapped his arms over the other man’s shoulders, holding his close, as if he was a delicate and precious object and not, in fact, the King of the Damned.  
“There is nothing I can say to talk you out of this, is there?” Crowley wondered aloud. “You’ve made up your mind?” It was a redundant question, but he asked it all the same.

“I don’t see a way around this. And you know that Hadrian is motivated enough to make sure we come back in one piece, otherwise, no cookie for him.” Cas tried to give Crowley a playful smile, but he felt it twitch a little sadly at the corners of his lips. “I wish you were coming with me, you know I do. But I have to go with Dean. And you have to take Sam back to the bunker, unless…” He paused, this time grinning with his entire face. “You want to show him the side of Paris he’s never seen before.”

“I don’t want to do anything with that overgrown beansprout.” Crowley looked a little disgusted at the prospect. Maybe having Cas around was rubbing off on him in a bad way. “And what if you get stuck in the past? Are you and Dean going to be keeping one another warm against the Pyramids?”

Cas thought about it. He should have just denied it off the bat, instead of actually contemplating the possibility, but he was curious by nature and - well - Crowley kept planting these really vivid ideas in his head. So he pictured Dean - pressed up against a Pyramid, the heat of a long-ago sun beating down on his upturned face - while Cas fucked deep inside, to very core of him. And he smiled. And then he remembered where he was.

“What? No! Of course not.” 

Yeah, he knew he didn’t really pull that one off. 

“I don’t… I don’t want… I don’t love him the way I love you.”

This was not well played. Cas gave Crowley his best puppy dog eyes and hoped for the best.

It really was blatantly obvious. It also should have made Crowley all growly and possessive and fuck-you-up-against-the-doorframe. Instead it just sort of made him… sad. 

“If you’re stuck there for the rest of your life, I suppose it’s unrealistic of me to expect anything else,” he agreed. “But I’m not going to say I’m happy about the idea. When you could find past-you or some other dope to ping you back to now. But… sure.”

The hands on Cas’ arms pulled a little tighter. It was clear from the way he was wavering that Crowley was considering vanishing out to that bar he’d visited before. The one with all the interesting bottles with interesting contents - some of which illegal, all of which tempting and nice - and was fighting the urge to flee rather badly.

“I want to come. I do. Just… no angel in existence can send me back in time with you. And I hate that.”

“Please don’t talk like that!” The thought of never seeing Crowley again sent Castiel’s heart drumming like a hummingbird against his breastbone. “I will come back, I swear. I’ll find a way. And I… I won’t bone Dean.” He said the last part with almost a comical amount of sincerity and gave Crowley his most wistful look. “You’re my whole heart,” he added, twining his fingers through Crowley’s hair to pull him in for a kiss.

Crowley’s hands moved fast. They moved to bracket Cas’ face and hold him in close. To hold him in close as he kissed him back with the sudden ferocity of someone who isn’t convinced this was going to happen again. Like he was sending Cas off to war and he knew it was a case of with or on the shield. His thumbs jabbed under his jaw, fingers pressing behind the joint to make him open up. It was not pretty and it was not pleasant and it was all _hurt_ and _fear_ and Crowley was worried to death over someone who wasn’t him in the longest time he could remember.

He pulled back and stared. Willing Castiel to understand with just a look alone, not wanting to trust this to words when he knew it would turn into an unreasonable argument. He wanted one thing, and Cas wanted another. And he was going to have to let Cas do what he wanted, which he’d known since Hadrian had offered up his damn-fool plan. He’d argued with Hadrian until the angel had almost thrown him out. He’d contemplated just going all out war against the remaining angels and scorching every last one of them from the face of the earth. He’d considered every last option and this was the best one and he still wanted to say no.

The door to the other rooms of the suite was already closed. It was already closed, and he knew neither Sam nor Dean would be idiotic enough to barge in now. Not when all the fury in Hell was burning in Crowley. He stepped back and broke all contact, eyes dark and angry. “You are the only good thing to happen to me since I died. And I’m the top of the food chain, Cas. I’m the one the little newly minted demons look up to. I’m the _King_. The Head Honcho. The Numero Uno. I’m _It_.” And I can’t even control my human lover, says the nasty, bitter little voice underneath it all. “You better come back. Or I’ll gut every last angel I find until one of them fetches you home.”

"So long as I live and breathe, as the humans say," Cas squeezed through his teeth, knowing that enough was enough and that only one thing was going to make this better. At least temporarily. He grabbed Crowley by the lapels of his coat and wrestled him into the hotel bed. "I'm yours, babe."

He liked that pet name most because it was somehow everything Crowley wasn't in his own mind. 

Crowley snapped. Just… snapped. He climbed on top of Cas and grabbed his hands and shoved them over his head, straddling him at the waist and bearing him down. He’d have done this without touch, if Cas had given him the chance. He’d have done everything without laying a finger on him, because the moment his hands were back on him it was too late. It wasn’t the thought of him being unfaithful with Dean, not really. It was much deeper. Much more primal. Much… worse. It was the thought of losing him in _any_ way. And Crowley just was not ready for that. Not ready at all.

With his mind, he held Cas’ hands down. The better to rip open the very nice shirt he’d bought him. The better to reach for his belt and fumble it open and somehow he’d forgotten how to be graceful and elegant in with all the pain. 

“You are.” He got the belt free and reached up to lash Cas’ wrists to the headboard. No more magic. No more anything but hands. “You’re mine. And I’m going to make sure you remember it, Cas. I’m going to write my name all over you so anyone who sees knows who you belong to. Knows not to _touch_.” Fingernails dug in just under his collarbones and scratched stark pink lines down to the slack waistband of his unbuttoned trousers. Crowley wanted this to _hurt_.

"Do it," Cas breathed out hotly. "I want to take souvenirs with me to my retroactive family reunion." He braced against the restraints, feeling comforted by their unmaleable grip. He wanted to leave his own marks too, for his lover to remember him by, but first, he knew he had penance to pay for his dirty thoughts. 

Seeing answering fire in his once-angel’s eyes was enough. Little short of him pleading for mercy would have convinced him to stop, and even then he didn’t want to engage with if it would have worked or not. It was unimportant. What was important was pressing his blunt fingernails in over Cas’ hips. Pressing and pressing and watching with cruel pride how it made Cas’ breath catch and his eyes unfocus. What was important was scratching over his ass as he tugged the fabric down and moving from one side to the other in order to shove the trousers and briefs down to his ankles and no further - a little restriction but nothing too hard. 

And that left Cas spread open like a book with a bent spine, the pages rustling in the breeze. Crowley didn’t want gentle and slow. He wanted screaming. He wanted to punish him. And he wanted him to know just how much this _mattered_. More than Heaven. More than Hell. It was everything all at once.

He lifted Cas’ legs up and dropped them over his shoulders. Eyes on him. Eyes looking _into_ him, almost. And then he turned his head and bit high up at the tender flesh of Cas’ inner thigh, even as he jabbed two slicked fingers into him. Magic he might be avoiding, but there was one thing he did not consider to be cheating and there was no way he was going to do this without some form of lubrication, angry or not. He bit down hard and sucked and crammed those fingers into him brutally but loving all the same. 

It occurred to Cas that perhaps his Father would not appreciate him coming into His presence covered in demonic hickeys and who knows what else. Then again - there wasn't any point to dissemble with the omniscient. 

He shut his eyes and tried to memorize the feel of it: the desperation tinged with wrath and desire. The feel of Crowley's lips and teeth, of his fingers and knuckles, the way one hand clasped at his naked thigh while the other fucked him open. When he was restrained like this, there wasn't much else he could do except take it, but he needed his lover to know that he wanted it as hard as he got it. So he let loose a lusty moan, loud enough to alert Dean and Sam to the developments. Hopefully they had been clever enough to realize a stroll through Parisian _rues_ had been called for and made themselves scarce.

Crowley kissed the bite-mark better, but he did nothing to help with the stinging pain or the inevitable mark. He wanted it to mark. He wanted Cas' perfectly smooth skin to show where he'd been. He wanted it to be there when he walked and his thighs brushed together. He didn't need to breathe but occasionally he forgot and did it anyway. He slid a third finger in and splayed them, stretching as fast as his body would allow, reaming him open as he grabbed his lover's cock with his free hand. It was a measure of how irate he was that his two hands worked out of sync; sloppy, greedy, needy strokes with no direction other than to drag over nerves and show him with his touch what he refused to with his words.

When Cas started to squirm too much, when he knew he was getting closer from the way his breath faltered and his thighs tensed, he pushed up just enough to look over him, to try to catch his eyes.

"Cas.... Cas..." A kiss to the hip, one to the soft skin of his stomach. "Look at me, Castiel." Hands still working furiously hard.

Cas' eyelids fluttered open over his unfocused eyes as soft moans escaped through his nose. He was almost _there_ , that place where his entire body becomes just one oversensitized nerve, and now Crowley was pulling him back from the brink, and Cas felt lost and helpless and utterly at his mercy - which was exactly how he liked to feel. He loved being consumed.

Slowly, he focused his eyes upon Crowley's own dark gaze, using his breath to try to make his body catch up with his brain, to slow everything down. It was difficult. Everything just felt too good, and opening his eyes only made it that much hotter.

“Look at me,” he repeated, the words barely audible over the growl that was his voice. “Look at me. I want to watch you lose control. I want to _witness_ your surrender. I want to _see_ you mine.” 

He could breathe in the smell of him, the musk of arousal and the scent that was purely Cas. He could _hear_ the blood pounding through him. “And don’t you dare come until I tell you that you can.” Even as he found that sudden focus, through the rage. The anger giving way to purpose, the ire forged into control. He had one goal, and one goal only.

Cas felt his thighs tremble and he tried to clamp down around Crowley's shoulders, the soft restraints of his own trousers in counterpoint to the solid binding around his wrists. He clenched and unclenched his fingers in an attempt to hold off the intangible oncoming of the pleasure pooling in the pit of his belly.

Crowley's eyes were glowing like embers, two bright amber points to draw Cas' own gaze to them. He tried to focus on them like a lifeline.

"Yes," he whispered, "Yours. You can do whatever you want to me."

Crowley commanded the massed legions of the damned. He ruled over the whole Pit. Save perhaps some divinities (absent or not, kind or not) there were few beings more powerful than him. He could literally walk down the _Champs-Élysées_ and explode 99% of everyone’s hearts with nothing more than a blink. But none of that was important. None of that made him feel as powerful as he did now. 

A slow, slow press of lips against the blossoming bruise, eyes lowered, lashes brushing his cheeks. “What I want… is to drive you out of your mind. I want to destroy any lingering shred of sanity in you. I want to burn the thoughts of anyone else out, and leave only me in you.” He stopped stroking, and just gripped Cas’ cock, thumbnail scratching at the crown. “I want you to move and feel me.”

He let go of Cas’ cock, to yank his trousers the rest of the way off. They hit the wall and slithered to the floor. “And I won’t let you come until you beg me.”

Cas emitted a soft whinnying noise. He hated begging as much as Crowley loved hearing him beg. But that was part of the game, the game where Crowley wrecked him to the point where begging became second nature.

“Hell-spawn,” Cas spat out with mock wrath and strained against his wrist restraints, thighs wrapping tighter around Crowley now that his legs were free.

“ _I love you too_ ,” he laughed in response. “And yes, yes I am.” He pulled his hand out from between Cas’ legs, leaving him empty and hungry. He knelt back on his haunches, hands moving much calmer and surer than he had a right to. 

“But you will still beg me.” He began the delicate work of unfastening the tie knotted immaculately around his throat. It was a very nice tie. It was one of his favourites. The silk was fine and expensive, and the pattern was a series of repeating Cs. He pulled each end until taut, and found the middle. He laid it gently on Cas’ straining dick, then wrapped it carefully around like a ribbon around a present. One end clockwise, the other widdershins. He pulled both strands tight and tied a neat little knot just under the tip. Then he smiled. 

That done, he took Cas’ legs and bent him in half. “Are you ready?”

Cas glanced down at his new embellishment that was making his cock feel like it was about to burst at the seams - while not actually letting him burst. It was, like all of Crowley’s little love gifts, charming.

“Yeah…” he moaned, sounding less certain somehow. “Fuck…” He looked back into Crowley’s eyes. “Yes. Give it to me.”

Crowley yanked him up. It was going to be murder on his back, and he wasn’t in the mood to be kind and lessen that. No: he wanted him to feel every last little drop of being human. Holding him bent with one hand (only marginally cheating) he unzipped his own fly with his other, and fumbled in the pristine fabric until he freed himself. He had no intention of stripping. None. It just reinforced the control he felt inside his head. “Ask. Nicely. Did no one teach you manners, Cas?” 

Hand on his own cock, lining up and ready. But still not giving in. Not until Cas asked properly.

Cas whimpered, eyes going soft and pleading. “Dammit, Crowley! Fuck me, _please_?” He tried very hard to keep his eyes from rolling. He bit his lower lip and prodded Crowley with the heel of his naked foot.

“Do you speak to God with that mouth?” But Crowley was smiling still. He didn’t give him a chance to reply, slamming up and in - in one rough move. “Maybe if I make you scream His name enough we won’t need to send you back in time after all?”

“God!” Cas moaned out, right on cue.

“That’s not loud enough,” Crowley tutted. And another slam. 

“Fuck!” Cas loved the feel of that fat cock inside him more than he loved the beouf tartare at Les Deux Magot. He wished his hands were free so that he would be able to sink his nails into the flesh underneath Crowley’s shoulder blades, as if they were little, leathery demon-wings. “Wouldn’t you rather have me moaning _your_ name, lover?” He didn’t know where he got the wherewithal to get that sass out, but sometimes he surprised even himself. His ass burned in a delicious way.

“You will. You will yell it when you can’t stop yourself.” He dropped to all fours, then grabbed two hands full of the bedding. “You’ll scream it just before you beg, and just before I let you come, Cas. You’ll howl when you can’t stop yourself.”

He bit his own lip, focussing. All his attention narrowing down to the slam, the push, the twist of his hips and the grind against his ass. “How much longer do you think you can resist me, angel-mine? Or do you need me to tear you a new one in the process?”

Cas screamed, an amorphous sound, something guttural that came gurgling up from deep inside his chest.

“God, please… Don’t stop! Fuck… Crowley… you feel so good…”

It was something in between begging and not quite begging - still, he wanted to see how much more he could take before he fell apart on his lover’s throbbing cock.

Like he was going to stop. Like Crowley could stop. He wanted to own him body and soul. Wanted to pour himself into Cas to fill all the empty spaces. Wanted to come screaming _his_ name. He dropped back onto his knees, making Cas flex to accommodate, and grabbed his pretty little bound up present. His hand twisted, dragging the tight fabric around like the lid on a jar. 

“I told you…” and now with his index finger, he pressed against Cas’ nipple. “...you’re all mine…” And he drew a huge, looping letter C that arced up towards his throat and around his side and finished in his navel. The finger burned but left no mark... or none that anyone could see.

“Yesssss….” Cas hissed, feeling the heat sink deep into his flesh. “Crowley!” he moaned, but he couldn’t quite get there yet. “I need more.” He wasn’t sure what, but the _need_ burned inside him as surely as Crowley’s hidden mark. “I need… I need to feel you.” He tried to crane his neck forward to catch his lover’s lips between his teeth. “Love you,” he whispered, half promise, half plea. 

Hand pulling back from the silk-wrapped flesh - a fingersnap and a thought - and the belt around Cas’ wrists snaked down over his arms to sprawl atop the bed, leaving him free to move. Crowley took one of Cas’ hands in his own and kissed the knuckles, eyes on Cas’ as he did. And then he guided their hands between them and laced both around Cas’ cock, so they could stroke it together. His other hand he left for Cas himself. 

“You have me.” He meant it. “You have all of me.” He relented at last, and brushed his lips against his angel’s, swallowing against the tightness in his chest. The heavy weight in his balls. He arched up and kissed his forehead, more… fond than fire. “I love you too.” A whisper. Barely there. “I love you, Cas. So… come…”

Castiel felt his entire body shaking with the strain of trying to hold on and hold off. He felt his own slick between his fingers, interlaced with Crowley’s, the feel of their intertwining and squeezing around his throbbing cock getting him there together. His other arm wrapped tightly around his lover’s torso, nails digging into the firm and supple flesh of the demon’s ass. 

But Crowley’s words were setting him free, he did not need to hold off anymore. He could… reach up, reach out - lips smashing against lips, whimpering noises intermingling, eyes burning with unshed tears - and let go. He came with a cry so loud that he thought he might shatter windows, even in his human confines.

Crowley breathed in every last decibel, swallowing Cas’ screams and letting them echo in his ribcage. The man truly was a miracle, and when he came it always felt like he’d done something worthwhile. Something beautiful. Something good. He beat over abused flesh until Cas started to pull away from him, tugged until Cas’ toes objected and the noises bordered on anguish, and then he let go of the ruined tie. It was never going to be wearable ever again, but it had died a brave soldier’s death. It fell where he left it, and he scratched and clawed at the sheets instead, head slamming forehead first into the pillow to the side of Cas’ head. 

“C-Cccas, I--” But whatever it was, he didn’t manage to say it, because the words turned into a strangled yell of pleasurepaingrief and just like that he was spent, too. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare do anything but keep his eyes shut and refuse to move or… think. 

Both of Castiel’s hands were now raking up his back, then neck, finally carding through his hair (in all likelihood, adding more ‘product’ that he would have to wish away later), and he could feel the heel of the angel’s foot, now less restless, but still dragging with a keen intent down the back of his calf.

“I know, my love,” Cas whispered. “I know.” One hand now cradling the side of Crowley’s head while he kissed along the curvature of his demon’s ear, lips grazing against cheekbones, soft kisses pressed to tired eyelids. “My love,” Cas repeated, smiling into the skin of Crowley’s face.

“I’d kill every last angel if it meant I got to keep you.” His head still lowered, chest rising and falling with the breaths he didn’t need but wanted to take. He found Cas’ hand again - not caring how messy it was - and pressed them palm to palm. 

He bit his lip. “...I can… clean up the mess I made of you. If you don’t want to be sore.” He was hoping Cas wouldn’t take him up on that, but the exhaustion of the moment made him momentarily cautious and generous. “I just… needed to… I needed it to show.”

Interlacing their fingers together, Cas brought Crowley’s hand to his lips so that he could pay the same homage to it he just did to his lover’s face.

“I will manage. If you can’t come with me, at least your teeth-marks can.” Cas smiled and pulled Crowley over himself like a wooly afghan. He wanted to burrow into the warmth that seemed to constantly emanate from his lover’s body. Hellfire was so comforting, and in his human body Cas often found his extremities grew cold. “I want to feel you inside me even when you’re not,” he muttered, his spent cock giving a valiant little twitch at that image. “And we’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.”

“I already miss you.” It was snarkily said, but that was just to cover the emotion inherent in the statement. “Hmm… are you going to be thinking about me when you talk to God? He’s going to know, you know. I guess at least I should be grateful that I won’t get the doting father speech…”

His whole suit was going to be ruined. It was just going to be yet another sacrifice at the altar of Castiel. False idol and everything. “...especially because He would probably turn me into a pillar of salt…”

“That did occur to me,” Castiel shrugged. “He might be angry. Well, I don’t know what would make him angrier - the fact that another angel took my Grace or the fact that I’ve been really enthusiastically letting the Devil fuck my ass.” He pulled up and grinned at Crowley from his propped up position, pressing the demon close to his chest. “These days, I can’t really speak for the thunderbolts of Divine Wrath and where they may strike. I’ll just let Dean do the talking.” He paused. “I’d say ‘God help us’ but that would be redundant.”

“I bet this was never in any prophecy.” It would have been the laughing stock of Heaven and Hell if it had ever been predicted. “And if _I_ do more - with three humans - to reopen Heaven than any of the angels… well. I’m never going to let any of them live _that_ down.”

“Shhh, don’t count your baby demons before they’re hatched,” Cas kissed Crowley on the lips and then on the nose. “I’m going to sleep now,” he announced, burrowing closer again. “Wake me up if Hadrian materializes.”

“Right after I burn his eyeballs out,” Crowley promised, and wrapped around him tighter. “Sleep. You need your rest if you’re going to talk to your absent father figure. Those conversations always go down well.” He rolled onto his side, pulling Cas with him - not really wanting to smother him in his sleep.

Crowley didn’t sleep. Crowley didn’t need to. And he couldn’t have, even if he had tried.

***

[Exodus 19] _1\. On the first day of the third month after the Israelites left Egypt—on that very day—they came to the Desert of Sinai. 2. After they set out from Rephidim, they entered the Desert of Sinai, and Israel camped there in the desert in front of the mountain..._

_16\. On the morning of the third day there was thunder and lightning, with a thick cloud over the mountain, and a very loud trumpet blast. Everyone in the camp trembled. 17. Then Moses led the people out of the camp to meet with God, and they stood at the foot of the mountain. 18. Mount Sinai was covered with smoke, because the Lord descended on it in fire. The smoke billowed up from it like smoke from a furnace, and the whole mountain trembled violently. 19. As the sound of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses spoke and the voice of God answered him. 20. The Lord descended to the top of Mount Sinai and called Moses to the top of the mountain. So Moses went up...  
_

Hadrian timed the jump in perfectly to coincide with the trumpeting, thundering and lightning. No one noticed three male figures suddenly on the outskirts of the little encampment. It was true their simple clothes were too clean and new, but they did - at least superficially - blend in. As Moses went to the mountain, the Israelites looked at the face of the forbidden slopes with awe and wonder. 

“Humans,” Hadrian shuddered, brushing off his caftan as if the particles of humanity flowing through the years might contaminate him. “I would of course take on my true form, but a) someone up there might notice if I was suddenly two million miles tall, and b) I think our little trip here has drained me of most of my juice.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious humblebrag and make a rude gesture that only Cas was privy to.

“Why don’t you stay here to recover your strength,” Cas said to the angel, showing more concern outwardly than he felt while trying to suppress giggles at Dean’s unsubtle gesticulating. “We’ll need you at full power to get back home.”

“If you don’t get smote to smithereens!” Hadrian declared with rather an unhealthy amount of glee. His hand grabbed on around Castiel’s wrist. “Perhaps you could give me a nice little jump? Doesn’t cost much. A little former angel to real angel mouth-to-mouth?” He winked.

“Jesus!” Dean shook his head, trying to pull Cas away. “There’s a whole village of people who probably haven’t invented underwear yet down there!” He pointed towards Moses’ wandering tribe. “Maybe you can go get some mouth-to-mouth down there.”

“Dean!” Cas was truly shocked by that suggestion, on the one hand. On the other hand, Hadrian was leaning far too close. “Let go, brother. You know I’m taken,” he stated firmly.

“I can blow this mortal coil to kingdom come with the sound of my true voice,” he purred sweetly into Cas’ ear. “You’re lucky your lover has what I want... otherwise, you’d be genuflecting to _me_. Both of you,” he shot towards Dean. 

“I don’t know how you turned out as cool as you are, Cas. All your siblings are giant dicks,” Dean stated. More thunder and lightning struck all around them. “Dad sounds pissed. We should go up before we miss our chance.”

“I’ll be at the foot of the mountain,” Hadrian said sweetly, “Awaiting the bearer of the Lord’s Word.” He made a gesture with his hand which left no doubts as to his lack of respect for the aforementioned Prophet, then he disappeared.

“Angels, man,” Dean shook his head in utter bewilderment.

“Our egos can be as big as our true forms,” Cas smiled sadly.

“Two million miles of douchebaggery?”

“Something like that.”

Whilst Hadrian went off in search of Aaron (the slightly less well-known and less-intelligent brother) the two humans snuck up the mountain after Moses. Thankfully no one saw them, nor did God strike them down as they went. 

The bush, such as it was, was actually, non-metaphorically still on fire as Moses had turned to go. Dean was just about to ask Cas what they were supposed to do when a booming voice sounded in a language that Dean did not understand.

Castiel got up from where he was crouched and walked out towards the burning shrubbery, looking up towards the sky as he spoke in the same language that Dean did not even recognize. 

“Sorry, Dean,” Cas turned towards him. “English has not been invented yet.”

“Dean Winchester. I am the Lord, your God. I am All Mighty and All Knowing,” suddenly the bush boomed forth. “I just invented English, just so that I can tell you to kneel. Now kneel.”

“I think I’ve seen this episode before,” Dean mumbled, lowering himself down onto his knees.

“Just kidding,” the bush boomed forth again. “Kneeling is for goyim. Everyone knows the Winchesters are at least one eighth Chosen?”

“For reals?” Dean squeaked.

“No, I’m just kidding again.”

“Your Dad has a really shitty sense of humor,” Dean hissed at Cas.

“I heard that. I am God, you idiot.”

“Shit.”

“This isn’t going well,” Cas shook his head. “Father, we have come here from the future because we need your help.”

“Castiel… or what is left of Castiel, I know why you are here. As they say in English - duh. How many times do I have to push that whole ‘omniscient’ concept,” the voice of God spoke and the fire on the bush suddenly went out. Instead, a somewhat diminutive, bald-headed yet bearded man appeared in its stead. “We need to speak in private,” the man said, his shiny head radiating forth with something akin to - yet not quite - a halo. “This affects Metatron - doesn’t seem right to use The Voice when in fact we need to be talking about The Voice behind his back, er, wings, um… Whatever.” The man was rather short of stature and wore something remarkably modern. “I like these. I shall call them - pants.”

“Um…”

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas hissed.

“Listen, Castiel. I am sympathetic to your plight. Free will isn’t free. It has to be earned, and you’ve worked hard for your freedom. By the way, is that demon spunk I smell on you?” the Lord asked.

“Er…”

“You realize there is no point in lying to me, right?”

“Yes, Father. It is as you say - demon spunk.”

“Dude…” Dean muttered, wanting the Earth to swallow him whole.

“Well, that’s… Interesting.” The Lord shrugged and looked generally bored. “I admire your balls, Castiel. You fuck shit up beyond repair back home, take the King of Hell for your bedmate, and bring the boy who ruined the Apocalypse here to ask me to _help you fix it_. You have mastodon balls! And I ought to know! I gave the mastodon huge balls!”

“Uh… thanks.”

“Really, I should smite you where you stand. But what can I say? I have a soft spot for balls. Must be why I keep bringing you back to life.”

“Thank you, Lord?”

“You’re welcome. Now. Let’s talk about what I can realistically do for you that wouldn’t inconvenience me too much.” The Lord took something out of the breast pocket on his bewilderingly double-breasted vest and placed it over his nose. It was a pair of sunglasses. “Your future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades,” the Lord pronounced and Dean shook his head so hard, he thought it might actually fall off.

***

Sam was surprised to find Crowley in the spacious joint living room, sprawled on the couch with his feet lifted on a pouffe. The demon was cradling a rather large bowl of popcorn and staring intently at the even larger flatscreen television that lined one wall.

“So… you’re sticking around?”

Crowley shrugged. “Hell can cope without me for a bit longer. I can work from home.”

He tilted his head at the demon, hiding a smile but not very well. “This is working?”

“It is if you’re the boss.” Crowley could even eat popcorn passive-aggressively.

Sam shrugged and went to the mini-bar to retrieve two cold bottles of beer. He snicked them open and went to join Crowley on the couch without asking. The demon didn’t-breathe in an exasperated way, but he didn’t kick him off either. Sam held the beer out as a peace offering and was pleased when Crowley took it.

“What are you watching?”

“It’s called ‘When Kittens Attack’.”

“Strange. I didn’t think they had reality TV shows back in… when is this set?”

“It starts in 1912.”

Sam was pretty sure it was that British show about stately homes and inheritance and stuff. He’d have liked to watch it but he’d just never got around to it, really, and Dean would have point-blank refused. He settled in and tried to catch up on the threads.

“Is this… like… are they relatives of yours?”

“Contrary to popular belief, the English are not actually all inbred. The Scots are a law unto themselves and proud of it, and everything they tell you about the Welsh and the sheep is true.” Crowley narrowed his eyes over at Sam. “Why, are you trying to work out ways to kill me again? Because fictional historical drama is not research material.”

“No, I just… with the name…”

“Serendipity. Nothing more.” Crowley turned back to the screen. “...and I can assure you I was never in the running to be a stately Laird.” 

“Fair enough.”

The episode started to draw to a close, and Sam wondered what would happen next. He’d finished his beer, but Crowley was still nursing his. He kept taking the occasional swig in between mouthfulls of popcorn. It was just… surreal. Sitting next to the King of Hell. Who was sulking because his boyfriend was off saving Heaven. He was struck by how different Crowley was to Lucifer; he would never have entertained the thought of keeping Lucifer company out of pity. Crowley was just an entirely different kettle of fish.

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?” He ran his thumb over the crinkling label stuck slightly off-centre on the bottle. The condensation made it easy to tug the edges free of the glass.

“...’Downton Abbey’? If you like. I’m not really one to ask how accurate the historical details are, and I’m not good at concealing spoilers. Evil and all…”

“I meant about Cas.”

“I was under the impression that you very much didn’t want to listen to the sordid, tawdry details of our star-crossed love affair…” But the demon was at least vaguely smiling now.

"Dude, what two consenting adults get up to - preferably in soundproofed rooms - is none of my business."

"So - what? Is this relationship advice from Doctor Death? You do know what the denizens of Hell refer to your little Moose as, don't you?" His eyes drifted towards Sam’s crotch, then came back up.

"They - wait... I don't want to know. And... No. You can just cut all the swagger, Crowley. We all know that... for God knows what reason... you love Cas and he loves you. It's insane, but I'm really not one to judge people for falling for a demon."

"If this is when you confess your illicit love of me - flattered as I am -"

"No. It's not even when I give you the 'if you hurt him we will destroy you' speech, because I think you know Dean and I got Cas' back or you wouldn't have let them go."

Crowley drained the beer and shovelled a ridiculous amount of popcorn in his mouth. It was rather cute in a weird way, watching the demon try to pout and sneer around it. It lacked gravitas and was instead full of pathos. Sam wondered if schooling a devil who was acting like a broody Juliet wangsting after her Romeo and eating junk food was going to be the strangest thing he did today, but he doubted it.

"What you said in the church..."

Crowley swallowed the popcorn in one go. "Whatever I may or may not have said is moot. You really want to discuss the time you kidnapped me, imprisoned me, raped the lingering shreds of any humanity or soul that still existed? Or use anything I said under duress and the influence of drugs?"

"It was just my blood."

"Exactly. And if you plan on taking some ridiculous moral highground when you and your brother are mass-murderers and your moral code is so twisted and perverted that theology majors could spend an entire semester discussing _one day_ in your lives... You claim it's for the Greater Good and yet I know what the stone under my welcome mat is made of, how can--"

Sam put his hand up and was pleased that Crowley stopped. "I know. It's why I'm talking to you right now. No one knows fucked up good intentions like a Winchester. You asked me how I confessed? It wasn't easy. I've done some bad stuff and I know it. But you also asked me how you started to ask for forgiveness too."

Crowley looked ready to tear his throat out, but he was silent. Sam knew this was the right thing to do. Sometimes you just did.

"Well. Cas already forgives you. And you're doing good things again. I'm no expert on it, but I guess feeling sorry and trying to do the right thing is how you manage it. You didn't need to do any of this. You could just have pretended to be helping, but you aren't. So maybe Cas is how you do it? I dunno. But I'm... I'm here if you want to... you know. Talk."

The demon's head tilted in a way eerily reminiscent of his currently missing boyfriend.

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen 'Game of Thrones'?"

***

There was a huge part of Dean that wanted to just take a majestic leap off of Mount Sinai while shouting a resounding “NOPE!” into the Heavens. The whole Lord working in mysterious ways thing, it was so true, and so _very_ mysterious, that he was seriously contemplating cutting a bitch, or - in this case - God. Well, not actually cutting God. He wasn’t quite _that_ full of himself to think he could go up against God, but still. That entire conversation? _Unnerving_.

“It didn’t go as badly as it could have,” Cas offered, descending down the mountain behind Dean.

“Dude!” Dean shouted, then hushed himself, then gave up in general because, really, what’s the point of whispering behind the Lord’s back? “Dude. Half of what he said made no sense at all, and the other half was exactly the opposite of what I wanted to hear.”

“He gave us a spell that would reopen Heaven!”

“Well, if he’s so All Mighty, why couldn’t He just… I don’t know. Wave a magic wand and reopen it from here?”

“Because the Old Testament God likes to play games of Faith with His constituency.”

“More like game of fuck-with-your-mind-and-then-smite-you,” Dean grumbled. “And I’m not happy about the spell particulars either!”

“Dean, we just have to believe that it will work,” Cas pointed out, sounding not as enthusiastic as he had hoped. “Besides, you should be thankful you got to look upon the Face of God and lived to tell the tale.”

“I looked upon the face of a bald dude who was wearing a bearded disguise, and a _poor_ one at that!”

“Why? Did you recognize Him?”

“Should I have?”

“No. I just...”

“Let’s just find Hadraniel or Hadrian, or whatever that crazy asshole’s name is, and get the hell out of here before God changes His mind and turns us into pillars of sand,” Dean suggested.

When they had finally come down off the mountain, another strange sight beheld them. They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it was definitely not a public assembly around what was clearly a Greco-Roman statue of a young man, resplendent in all his classical nudity, and extremely anachronistic for the period.

“What are you doing, you crazy Jews?” one man was yelling and gesticulating wildly in front of the statue. “Worshipping false idols? Is this how you repay the Lord your G-d who led you out of Egypt?”

“Don’t be such a prude, Moses!” someone shouted. “He’s really pretty!”

“Yeah, and I was told he drowned in the Nile for our sins,” someone else added.

“And look at his perky nipples!” a third voice intoned. Dean and Cas turned around their eyes fell upon the source of the third proclamation. To no one’s surprise, it was Hadrian.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean hissed at the angel.

“Having a little fun with my old friend Moses?” the latter replied, looking unfazed. “All hail Antinous!” he shouted and his voice was carried by hundreds of others in unison.

“Israelites! Your Lord will be well and truly ticked off!” Moses threatened. In a fit of pique, he threw down the tables with the commandments and they shattered noisily.

“Now is a good time for us to make our exit,” Hadrian declared, seemingly satisfied with his mischievous accomplishments. “Did you get what you needed?”

“It’ll have to do,” Castiel replied.

“Then off we go!”

***

“No way!”

“Yes way, Sam. That’s all she wrote.”

“But I need more!”

“Well you can read the books but I promise you they are long and full of complicated words and you will be spoilt forever and--”

“You’ve read them!”

“How do you think he got his talent?”

“Not every artist sold their soul to you, Crowley, I refuse to believe that.”

“Well, then. Ignorance is bliss. Pass me the Doritos.”

“Are there really that many regional accents?”

“Oh, Moose, you really are a sheltered American. Just because the island is smaller than one of your states it doesn’t mean that you don’t get knifed if you wear the wrong colour two streets down.”

“Well… tell me he’s okay.”

“Who?”

“You know who! Just… tell me he’s going to be okay.”

“Boy, you really _do_ like dwarfs…”

“Damn this time traveling to the tar pits of Hades!” Hadrian apparated in the middle of the living room, looking livid, but intact, and with Dean and Cas in tow. “What day is this? How long have we been gone?”

“They haven’t killed each other yet, can’t be that long!” Dean said with a giant grin, approaching Sam with his arms already akimbo for a welcome-back embrace. 

“Hey, Dean,” Sammy leapt to his feet and grabbed hold of his brother, whacking him in a very manly and non homo-erotic way on the back.

“So you didn’t all die,” Crowley said, from under the bowl of Doritos. He put them down - licking his fingers clean of dust - and got up a little more slowly. He was eyeing all three of them, making sure nothing was suspect.

A flush colored Cas’ cheekbones. He was about to take a step towards his overly cautious lover and speak, when a blood-curdling cry from Dean interrupted him.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE! IS THAT ‘GAME OF THRONES’?!”

Sam looked sheepish. “Uhm. You were gone for a week, man. We had to do something… or Crowley was going to re-enact the flood over Paris.”

“A week? Dammit. My aim really isn’t what it used to be. I blame that Moses for draining my mojo,” Hadrian puffed out his chest and examined his nails closely. “Very well, either way. You have your lover back,” he nodded towards Castiel. “Now render me mine and we shall speak of this no more.”

“I’ve tried to get you to watch this show, how many times?” Dean looked profoundly butthurt. “And you were all… whatever. And now I leave you with the King of Actual Hell, and suddenly… this? This is a betrayal, Sammy.”

“ _So_ not going to wait and see this family drama play out,” Hadrian declared with an exaggerated eye roll and twirled his cane. “Crowley, I believe we have some business to attend to. Or must I also wait while you osculate with your very own Ganymede over here?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dean… you just have to know how to tempt people… and your powers of persuasion sometimes leave something to be desired.” He turned sharply on his heel - military neat - and faced Hadrian. “Would you believe these two stopped the Apocalypse? I know… well. Never let it be said I am a demon not of my word. Close your eyes and open your hands and the devil will give you a big surprise…”

“Is this really necessary? Just…” Hadrian stretched out his hand, but did not close his eyes.

A snap and a holdall appeared in Crowley’s other hand. He stepped in and held it out for Hadrian to take. “Just add water and get instant sex-god, I suppose?”

“Something like that,” Hadrian muttered, taking the holdall from Crowley with reverent fingers. His face seemed transformed and for a moment everyone could actually glimpse the angel he must have been a very long time ago. Hadrian pressed the box to his chest and glanced up at Crowley. “Don’t look for us again, Demon.” And with a soft flutter of his wings, he and the box were both gone.

“Talk about ungrateful,” Crowley sighed, and turned back to the brothers Winchester and Cas. Cas who he still hadn’t really spoken to. Both of them looked safe and sound… both of them _seemed_ to just be themselves… but it had been a long week and it was as if he’d forgotten how to do… everything.

“So you guys saw… Him?” Sam asked.

“We saw… something,” Dean shrugged. “A bald, little dude with a long _fake_ beard, and in sunglasses!”

“Our Father has a strange sense of humor,” Cas interjected before Dean said something that might make his long-absent father suddenly take interest and smite him just for shits and giggles.

“And what did my Father-In-Law have to say for Himself?” Crowley had waited a god damn week. It was killing him, waiting. If he hadn’t had Sam, ‘Game of Thrones’ and any number of other DVDs they had mainlined over the week… it probably would have ended up with more people brutally torn into pieces by over-eager hell-hounds.

Cas looked downcast. He very much wanted to put a positive spin on things, or at the very least to be alone with Crowley so they could… talk. It upset him that it had been a week in the ‘real world’ whereas he had only felt the absence of a few hours. He almost wished he had had a week to mull things over himself, then, perhaps, he might have known how best to report their findings.

Luckily, Dean had come to his rescue. “So the good news is, there’s a spell to pop Heaven back open, _and_ get Cas all angeled up again. And more good news is, we’ve all the ingredients we need for the spell right here.”

“There’s going to be a catch.” Sam’s brow knit in confusion. “Or… did God just say… ‘Let there be angels’ and all you need to do is tick a box?”

“No, actually, I have to die,” Cas stated, finally deciding that honesty was the best policy after all.

Dean shifted uncomfortably and cast a careful glance in Crowley’s direction. “Um… it’s only temporary death, though. According to God, He’ll bring Cas back good as new, once… you know. The sacrifice is complete and all.”

“Very funny. How long have you been working on that? I mean… I know it’s boring back in the past before they invent socks and a sense of humour and pizza, but… guys… don’t give up your day jobs.” Crowley clasped his hands together. “Now would you kindly tell us the real plan?” 

Castiel sighed and shot a pleading look at Crowley.

“There is a ritual and an incantation and… but yes, so, we will do that. And then Heaven will be open again. And I will personally kick Metatron’s ass.” He was trying to talk very quickly, in the hope that the positive spin would actually obscure the underlying procedure. “And you can help me do that, like you helped me with Raphael.” 

“Once you kill him, he means,” Dean added, something akin to a flash of cruelty flashing across his eyes. “It’s a little part Cas here left out.”

“I’ll deal with you later,” Crowley told Dean. Another snap.

And the two were sent back to their bunker, leaving Crowley and Castiel alone.

“I am going to tell you _right now_ that there is _no way_ you need to die in order to do this. No way. And if God insists on it, then he’s even more of a dick than I already was convinced he was. Ever-forgiving, ever-loving my _ass_.” Crowley hadn’t moved a step.

Castiel sighed and sat down on the suite sofa.

“No, you’re right. I mean, about the _need_ for it. If He really wanted to, I’m sure He could’ve blinked and the entire mess would have been settled. But, as He said to me - free will isn’t free.” He smiled sadly. “Besides, if you think about it, I am getting off easy after I show up on Mount Sinai, reeking of your jizz and with your love-bites all over my body.” He looked up, almost coyly. “Silver lining?”

“In no universe is you dying a silver lining. A silver lining is you not-dying. One wherein you continue to live to be a pain in my ass.”

“It’s only a temporary death,” Cas tried to sound reassuring. “I’ve already died many times before. What’s one more?”

“I wasn’t dating you then,” Crowley pointed out. “And I’m fairly sure it was never suicide, either. We’ll find another way, Cas. We will. I don’t know how, but we will. We’ll tempt Metatron down with some… books… or something… and I’ll set all of Hell on him and…” He ran out of steam and slumped onto the couch beside Cas.

“It’s easier to just kill me,” Cas shrugged, leaning back against the satin pillowing of the couch. He looked over at Crowley and did not like what he saw. He had never seen his lover quite so… dejected. Not even back in the days of Castiel’s initial betrayal of their partnership. “Can’t you see what He’s doing? This is all about testing my faith in Him. Testing _our_ faith. If we pass this test, well… I don’t know, but… It’s a chance we take. We’ve gambled with more for less, haven’t we?”

“It might surprise you to learn I _have_ read the source material. And you can only do the ‘I’m only joking I don’t _really_ want you to murder your son instead of a sheep’ trick once and then everyone knows you’ve done it and it’s no longer a fucking test. God is a psychopath. He’s a serial killer. He’s just escalating his madness! Why the Hell should we play along to His ridiculous tune, Cas? Why isn’t He here? Why did He leave everything to go to the shit?”

“Maybe because He wanted us all to think for ourselves? The humans first. After - maybe even the angels? Maybe demons too, Crowley, who knows? You’ve made a lot of questionable choices lately. Starting with falling in love with _me_.” Cas tried to sound angry, but instead he just sounded tired. “This is the easiest way.” He put his hand on Crowley’s thigh and pressed gently. “Besides. I get to die in your arms. Is that really such a bad way to go? Even if it is… Only temporary.” He wished he could be more sure of that fact himself, the temporary nature of his own death. What was he really expecting from a Father who wore sunglasses at night and slaughtered every firstborn in Egypt just on a lark?

Crowley grabbed Cas by the scruff of his neck and pulled him around, tugging him until their foreheads met. His fingers rubbed soothingly, even as his other hand balled into a fist of anger. “You can question anything I’ve done bar that. Anything, Cas. Just not that.” He closed his eyes and just… sat there. His mind was whirring through the possibilities, and none of the thoughts were good. None of them. 

“...if this is what…” He couldn’t even finish. He couldn’t. His tongue stole out over his lips and then he tilted his head to find Cas’ lips with his own. He didn’t want to talk any more. He wanted… he wanted to rip his way into Heaven on hellfire and damnation and righteous hatred of his Creator. He wanted Cas.

Cas opened up to him. A part of him wanted to comfort Crowley, for the inadvertent absence he had experienced, for the possibility of grief he might experience in the foreseeable future, for the intangible pain he was experiencing in the moment. That was the selfless part of Cas. But there was another part that wanted to _take_ , a part that resented God as much as he feared Him, the part that screamed _Mine, this is mine, I deserve this!_ That was the part that practically climbed right into Crowley’s lap, wrapping arms around the neck, practically choking the demon with the insistent thrusting of his own tongue. _What if I don’t come back?_ Cas thought and ground down into Crowley’s lap with a renewed vigor. 

He didn’t resist, letting Cas work out his tension and his fear. He felt it too. He felt it - and helpless - and he kept the hand on the back of his neck as they kissed. His left hand dragged up over Cas’ side, and back down to rest on his hip. He couldn’t lose this. He _wouldn’t_ lose this. Not if he was risking his own hide and his position. He wasn’t going to let some dickhead of a divinity who was so very, very ‘loving’ take his angel from him.

A sudden thought stung, and he pulled Cas back from his mouth. “Wait… Cas… wait.” Nose against his, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “...tell me you’re not doing this just because you need to be an angel again?”

Cas was still flushed and panting a bit from the broken kiss, his lips feeling pleasantly swollen, his mind fuzzy.

“What? Crowley, I _am_ an angel. With or without my powers, I’m still one of them, and Metatron can’t take that away from me. And I have to fix this. I’m the only one who can.” He ran his fingers through his lover’s short hair, lovingly trailing them against the sinews on the back of his neck. “I know you love me like this too, but…” he leaned in again, lips brushing against lips. “This body is mortal, one way or another. And if I’m resurrected angelic, then we can be together - forever.”

Crowley smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile. That hurt. It hurt but it hurt in a good way. It hurt in a way that made everything sort of… ache and feel all at once. He shut his eyes to try and keep the tears inside, his voice barely this side of broken. “It’s a big ‘if’, Castiel. I’d love you if you stayed like this. I’d love you if you were old and weak.” Eyes opening, fixing on his. “It’s _you_ I love, not what you’re capable of, not Heaven, not any of it. And… if it’s what you want then I’ll do it.”

“Stop, God, _stop_ ,” Castiel gasped, fingers clawing at the short hair at the nape of Crowley’s neck. “I can’t… I don’t deserve to be loved like that.” He shut his eyes and buried his face in Crowley’s neck. How can something feel as pure as this, something so borne out of sin, on the surface of it? “I’ve hurt you before,” he whispered against the soft skin of his demon’s neck, “And in having you do this, I’m going to hurt you again. And if you loved me less, then it wouldn’t… you wouldn’t be hurt. I’m sorry, I’m…” He stopped and inhaled the scent of freshly baked bread again. Hell was full of trickery and lies, but this wasn’t one of them. “I’m so in love with you,” he whispered, hoping that somehow it would be enough because when that knife sank into his flesh, it would have to be.

“You deserve to be loved by someone better than a broken, blackened soul like me,” Crowley told him without pausing for thought. “You’re beautiful, Cas. You don’t give a damn. You’ll take on Heaven, Hell, God… anything. All for what you think you _should_ do.” He nuzzled at Cas’ collar, wishing the fabric gone but not willing it away. “Yes, it hurts. But if I had to choose between pain and you, or nothing and not? Cas… I choose you. I’ll always choose you. So shut up and let me love you back.”

“No more talking,” Cas growled, straightening up, his thighs still clamped tightly on either side of Crowley’s lap. “Apparently you haven’t seen me in a week. Isn’t there something you’d like to do about that?” Castiel’s hands were making quick work of the tie as it went flying across the room and landed on top of the flat screen TV, held in place by a miracle of friction. He started in on the buttons of Crowley’s shirt next, rushing to expose as much skin as he could. He needed to touch and taste it, to remind himself of the treasures hidden there, the way he could give a little Hell back to Hell when he touched the pliant flesh where it yielded up its secrets.

“You know all I’ve had for company has been the Jolly Green Giant…” He was trying for suave, debonair and disaffected, but it sounded a little strained to his ears. He started to tug Cas’ shirt from under his belt, sliding a hand up to his shoulderblades and trailing where wings once were. Would be. Soon. Bright and sparkling and perfect and powerful. He dragged down over his spine - making him arch - and down into his trousers to grab a handful of ass. “I practically had to tie a knot in it, you know.”

Cas chuckled, and arched back into the touch, nails trailing down Crowley’s chest and to the loops of his own belt buckle.

“Now that I’d pay good money to see,” he arched one eyebrow, allowing his hand to cup Crowley through his trousers. “Tied into knots. No. That would be tragic.” He massaged his palm against the growing bulge of his demon’s loins. Cas shut his eyes and hummed softly. Mmmmm yes, so much power in the palm of his hand. “I think,” he started, slowly licking his bottom lip, “I think there is something Milord wants, that perhaps he would never ask me for. Not aloud.”

“I would rather not… well. Be knotted. If it’s all the same to you. I’d rather plenty of other things instead.” His hands moved to the front of Cas’ trousers, mirroring his moves without even thinking of it. His mouth ran dry as Cas spoke, his eyes searching Cas’ for an answer. An explanation. An offer. It seemed he was always waiting for Castiel to work out what to offer him, to find the secret little things in his heart. Castiel was a better crossroads demon than he himself. “I want… you.” 

“Mmmm, yes, you do,” Castiel nodded shortly and slid down Crowley’s lap in order to extricate the man of his trousers, hands tugging, knocking his shoes off his feet as he went, multi-tasking with the ease of a man practiced at undressing his lovers. “And I think you shall have me,” he pronounced, spreading Crowley’s thighs apart with his hands and sliding his body in between his legs, lips trailing soft kisses along the exposed skin, trailing up, higher, until he could rub his face against the musky scent of Crowley’s barely contained erection beneath the thin fabric of his briefs. Castiel’s hands roamed up his lover’s abdomen, settling lightly over the mounds of his pecs, nails gently grazing against the tender, tiny, pink nubs of his nipples. He was hungry for flesh in a way that he usually wasn’t. The nearness of death made him more brazen, more craven. “I think you shall have all of me,” he added, teeth in gentle counterpoint against his lover’s straining boner.

“Don’t you want to be a little less… clothed?” Crowley asked, even though it was difficult to voice anything under Cas’ sudden precision-strike attention span. He ran a hand through Cas’ longer hair, fingers trailing little circles on his scalp. “If you come up here, I can fix it for you. Or I can just destroy your entire ensemble and buy you something new tomorrow…” His legs shook just slightly with nervous anticipation, and he wondered how Cas had suddenly got so many hands because it felt like anywhere he glanced the sensation lingered well past any contact with his skin.

“Patience,” Cas breathed against his skin, chest sliding against the straining crotch, tongue dipping playfully into the belly button. “I’m taking care of some serious business here.” Mouth, like little tentacle suckers, suddenly everywhere, sucking hot kisses into the skin of his abdomen, moving over to the chest. Cas hummed in accord again - he loved the taste as much as he loved the scent. His lips eventually found their way to the left nipple, just when his right hand reached into Crowley’s briefs and gave his cock a friendly squeeze.

“ _Fuck_.” He breathed the word out, barely kissing his teeth with his tongue at the end. Both hands on Cas’ shoulders, his fingernails digging in hard and tugging him in encouragingly. He bucked up into his hands as much as his mouth. “Cas… oh God Cas please just… please don’t torture me. I didn’t even do bad things to Sam. I didn’t even murder anyone while you were gone. Christ but I need you so badly…” His legs moved and wrapped around Cas’ waist, making sure he didn’t go anywhere too far away. “...please let me undress you?”

A whimpering, begging Crowley was not a pleasure Cas enjoyed encountering very often. It stoked the embers of the fire already inside him. His hand was firm but gentle as it brushed along the length of Crowley’s cock and his fingers cupped his balls in rhythmic time to the sucking of his lips on the hardening nubs of his nipples.

“Since you ask so nicely,” Castiel assented, and moved his mouth over to pay attention to the other nipple, lest it felt left out.

Cas was sort of settled into place, so Crowley figured it would be rude to move him. The fingers on his shoulders tightened until they went through fabric and the shirt was long gone. He rubbed his heels over Cas’ backside - perhaps a trick he’d learned from someone - and that shimmied fabric away from there, too. He wanted Castiel naked and he wanted it now and he was all too happy to see him. “I’m very nice. I’m the nicest Lord of Hell you’ll ever meet.”

Cas grinned into the skin of his chest and Crowley could feel both the stretch of his lips and pearly hardness of his teeth brushing against his skin again. He slid up, dragging his newly revealed skin flush against Crowley’s skin, hips settling firmly between Crowley’s thighs, tongue doing wicked things to the cords of Crowley’s neck. 

“Nice enough to fuck into oblivion,” Cas purred into his demon’s ear, lips sucking gently on his earlobe.

The words went right down his spine like cold lightning, but it just made him harder still. He’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t considered it. A few times. Maybe. Possibly. And hearing the words was just… his fingernails dug deeper into Cas’ skin, clawing little moons into strong shoulders. He pressed down - using his legs to squirm against the angel between his thighs - and he hissed like a kettle. “...then why don’t you? Why don’t you do it, Cas? It’s not like… I guess it’s about time you…” Shit. “...oh just… _fuck me, Castiel._ Fucking do it.” He was blushing horrendously, surprising himself with the sudden coarse, lost little demand in his voice. 

The grip upon Crowley’s balls turned into a tight vise and Cas exhaled a soft moan into his ears. He’d thought about it, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t. As much as he loved surrendering to Crowley completely, existing only for his desire and pleasure, he was curious by nature, and his lover’s proclivities had left certain of his orifices as yet… unexplored. And Cas wanted to explore them (especially if he was going to die). But he didn’t quite realize how hot it made him to think upon that until the moment Crowley actually begged him to fuck him.

“Holy Hell, it blows my mind to hear you say that,” Cas felt his entire body shiver with anticipation and he rained hot, open-mouthed kisses against his demon’s neck. “Fuck, you’re so… so… hnnngggg…. gonna tear you apart,” he practically sobbed and gave a few violent tugs to Crowley’s joystick. 

It was - the world... didn't end. Crowley had said it, and the world didn't end. (And he might lose Cas anyway. Might lose him forever.) Fear tinged everything. _Everything._ He might finally lose the good thing in his life. Might...

Crowley yelped under the tough love and spread his legs further still like a needy bitch. His hands roved up and into Cas' hair again, and he struggled to think over the rush of blood to head and dick. Everything tunnelling down to just... want and need.

"I need you to," he forced himself to say. "Please don't make me wait any longer. I've waited two lifetimes for this. For you." Humping Cas' wicked, wicked, wonderful hand, eyes pleading. "Don't make me beg?" No more than I already am…

Cas felt his head spinning and he sunk his teeth into the sinews joining Crowley’s neck and shoulder to smother the growl that was threatening to burst from him. Crowley was making him fall apart and he hadn’t even gotten as far as sneaking his finger down his perineum to stroke against the tight blooming bud of his asshole (a lapse he hastened to correct). He pressed against it, gently, teeth still worrying the sensitive flesh beneath his mouth, his own cock jumping to full attention as he felt his lover spread out wider beneath him.

“Do the thing,” Cas whispered, lifting his hand and snapping his fingers to communicate his obvious need - for lubrication. He looked down at Crowley’s flushed face, the flush that seemed to seep down through to the rest of his body, his heaving chest, heavy and leaking cock, and _God damn_ if he didn’t have the sexiest lover in the world. “Crowley, come on, let’s go! I need lube!” Cas wanted to ride him till his own cock fell off - it seemed worth it.

A little wave of something like panic passed through Crowley at how... vulnerable he was. Cas' fingers were stroking places people didn't stroke. Not on Crowley. He'd done this a hundred times or more, but he'd never really appreciated how it made Cas feel because... because. And in this position on the couch, with Cas further away, he felt like there was little he could do to contribute. He felt like he couldn't even _think_ of something to do, because he was out of his mind with just how _good_ his angel was making him feel, so he used the heel of his palm to caress Castiel's cheek, yelping in pleasure-pain at the teeth on his throat that threatened to overwhelm him utterly, and he grabbed Cas' ear between his own teeth. He was gentler, but he flicked his tongue over the squishy drop between his lips... then traced around the shell to the top and teased at the tiny little mountain ridges that circled the caldera below. 

When Cas pulled back, Crowley looked fucked and wrecked out of his gourd already. Gone was the sharp composure. Gone was the effortless control. In its place was a demon - a man - lost to love and lust. It took him longer than he would have liked to work out what Cas wanted, but he did. "Anything you ask," he said, simply, but he didn't click his own fingers. His eyes sort of hazed and flickered and when he looked back up at Cas he'd done as he'd been asked. He sucked on his own lip, eyes begging Cas to just... to just take it. Take him. Take everything.

"It's okay, baby, I've got you," Cas whispered in his ear, leaning closer again, one hand pressed into Crowley's chest, pushing him into the couch, the other... ohGod the other. He managed to get one lubricated finger in while using his thumb to stroke the perineum and the underside of Crowley's balls, he probed and twisted, eyes sparkling with the excitement of exploration. "You're so tight," another hot whisper against the demon's skin. "Fuck, I need to feel myself inside you."

He added two more fingers, hoping the lubrication would compensate for the rushed delivery, and bit his own lip to take his mind off the purple, inflamed head of his cock. Remembering what always felt good to him, Cas twisted his hand and reached in with his fingers, curling and brushing them against what he hoped would be... _Yes. There._

It was too much to ask for Crowley to do anything but hold on and try to relax. Try to relax despite feeling like everything was too... Sharp. Bright. Harsh. Beautiful. Something akin to soul-deep terror at the prospect of loss, at how utterly Cas had taken over and woken up things inside him he'd long since consigned to the grave. Every day he thought they'd hit his limit. Every day some other kindness destroyed him. 

"Uh..." He felt Cas breach him, felt his finger push inside. It was unholy. It was ungodly. It was insane. "Ohyes... Cas... Don't stop... I need you so badly..."

His complete lack of eloquence made him burn with shame, but he really didn't know what to say. The little whimpers and hiccupy, dazed sounds overlapping the obscene wet sounds of flesh rubbing together. But when Cas found _that_ place in him he yelped like he'd been shot and nearly bowled them both off the couch. "FUCK! CAS! YES! Please just-- FUCK!"

Cas had to brace against him with every limb to keep Crowley from bucking him off like some wild stallion. 

"Shhh, there," he whispered, still stroking against Crowley's prostate. "Good. Let me in." It was a superfluous request: his lover was already spread out for the taking and shaking with raw desire. It made Cas' brain feel like mush.

This would have to be enough prep. He popped his fingers out, kissing the soft whelp of protest from Crowley's mouth, and positioned his leaking cock at the stretched out entrance. Thankfully, Crowley had been more on top of the whole lube thing so Cas didn't need to ask for it. Cas glanced up once more, making sure they were still on the same page, almost fearing the feral beast inside himself that threatened to rip Crowley to shreds. 

"Okay?" he asked in a broken voice. 

The fingers still stroking him pulled a wounded howl from low in his chest, a deep, pooling warmth that spread from where Cas touched and into his belly and into his balls. It was almost unbearable. "In?" A laugh that wobbled into a hiss. "Cas... _yes_. A hundred times yes." 

Crowley grabbed his thighs and tugged up, pulling his legs as wide as he could, offering his ass. It was sweet of his lover to ask, but he could slap him for the delay. "Castiel... I don't know how much more abundantly clear I need to make it... if you don't fuck me right now...? Just... _please_ , angel. Please." He wanted this. He wanted this so very, very badly. Wanted to feel Cas in him, and wanted to let Cas feel it too. Especially if it might be the only chance... if it might be the only... no. No. Stop thinking like that. Don't think of what might happen, just think of what can and will and is.

Cas felt his eyes grow as wide as saucers, and then he grabbed Crowley by the back of neck and pulled, thrusting his tongue into the demon's mouth just as he finally thrust his cock home, into the softened, slick tightness of his eager hole. It was incredible: the clenching of muscles around him, the gravitational pull of Crowley's body. He began to ride up into the demon, harder, faster, balls slapping against exposed ass, tongue mimicking the thrust of his hips as he fucked Crowley's mouth with it, moaning in almost demented pleasure into the cavernous heat of it. Cas was losing his mind and it was glorious. 

Crowley was shocked by the hand on his neck - such a simple thing but so very heavy with meaning - and his mouth opened without a thought to resist. He did the same, holding Cas in close as he sucked carefully on the probing flex of muscle rubbing against his tongue. He had to fight back the parts of him that wanted to take control, but it was becoming less and less of an issue: every push and every thrust sending him deeper into the welcoming black. Now his legs were in place, he used his other hand to grab hold of his cock to stop it bouncing, to choke tight at the root, trying to keep it from exploding just yet. He wanted to hold on. He wanted to let Cas take him as long and hard as he could. And he wanted to feel the earthquake shocks of Cas’ hunger. His hand started to shake from the effort, the mounting bliss making it feel like his cock and his ass and his heart and his stomach were all one roiling, tensing, pulsing storm of heat.

Cas slapped Crowley's hand away, "Mine!" He wanted to be the one doing that, giving pleasure, controlling the flow of it. He could read his lover well enough now to see that they both wanted this to last. He slowed down for a beat, then went deeper, lifting Crowley's hips to drag him further into his cock. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Crowley growled, and grabbed Cas’ bicep instead. He held on tight because he wanted to be _doing_ as well as taking. He wanted to be _giving_ , and lying back and taking instead was messing with his head.

Cas kissed along the rough, stubbly jaw, the soft, silken hollow of his neck, right underneath the bobbing Adam's apple, he tried to pace himself by focusing on other things than the ridiculously tight fit of Crowley's channel. 

"Baby..." Cas was so very lost. "God, baby, you feel amazing..."

“I… could say the same thing about you…” Crowley tilted his head back, fingernails pressing into the nape of Cas’ neck and the firm, tight muscle of his arm. “God, you’re good at this…” He squirmed on the lovely thick rod splitting him all the way to his core, trying to impale himself, trying to get Cas deeper inside. “Don’t stop. Oh, _God_ , don’t stop.” 

As if he would, as if he _could_ stop. It was as if Cas was falling into an endless abyss the lumen of which was made up only of soft flesh and tight heat and an utter disregard for his sanity. He let go of Crowley’s cock, to use both his hands to pull on his lover’s hips with bruising intensity, to fuck him as hard and deep as he could go, Crowley’s abandoned cock now trapped between the sweaty slide of their abdomens against each other. Cas’ fingers clawed up the body beneath him, leaving angry, pink trails in their wake.

“Uh… shit… _fuck_ , I wanna tear you apart,” he confessed in between sloppy but violent kisses. “Then make you whole again… _damn_... just wanna come in you…” He was making very little sense and gave even less of a shit about it. His own cock ached from the need to explode into Crowley. Crowley, who was an utterly wrecked remnant of the demon he used to be, writhing with reckless abandon on his cock, and all _his_ , Cas’ very own for the taking.

“Then do, angel. Do.” He meant it to both. He wanted Cas to pull him open, wanted his hands to shape him back together into one. Into a whole. He’d been so long broken, so long hobbling on legs shattered and never reset… he’d lost countless feet to the weight of sin and injury, no matter what vessel he chose to inhabit: it was inside he was small. 

The kiss to Cas’ cheek was soft - feather soft - and he wasn’t scratching any more. Cas was doing more than enough of that for both of them. Cas was doing more than enough of _everything_. He might not believe _in_ God, even if he _knew_ he existed, but it was hard to deny that good existed. Nigh on impossible. “Come in me, Cas. Come in me and then let me come, too. Please. I want to feel… I want to feel you.”

“Yes,” was all Cas could gasp out, his mind drawing one magnificent blank at Crowley’s words. He buried his face in Crowley’s neck with a protracted sob and commanded his own cock to let go, the orgasm tearing out of him like a rampaging horde. He sunk his teeth into the demon’s collarbone to somehow ground himself, body shaking and head swimming from the absurd amount of hormones circulating through his all-too-human body. “Come for me, baby,” he whispered, one hand snaking back down to wrap around Crowley’s neglected boner.

Crowley barely needed Cas’ hand, but it wasn’t as though he’d complain. He made a very undignified squeaking noise, clinging to Cas as he bucked underneath him. He’d forgotten he was strong enough to throw him off if he tried hard enough. He’d forgotten a lot of things, to be fair. Like how to do anything other than grab a mouthful of shoulder and kick furiously with his heels as he came like there was no tomorrow. He thrashed weakly until he was finished spilling between them… and dropped bonelessly back onto the couch like he was a thoroughly fucked human, and not the King of Hell he so proudly reminded to tell everyone at every available (or unavailable) opportunity.

Cas tried to hold him down, tried to hold _both_ of them down, to keep them from some combination of destroying the furniture and ending up in an undignified pile of limbs on the floor. With one valiant push, he somehow managed to climb both on top of Crowley and the couch and curl into the nook of the demon’s neck before his brain surrendered all higher function and he descended into some combination of a post-coital slump and quasi-slumber.

Crowley snorted. Humans were really very flimsy, when all was said and done. Although he couldn’t complain at the very thorough reaming, Cas’ immediate hibernation mode was… well. 

Cute.

He made sure he wrapped around him enough to keep him from accidentally falling off, and propped his head on Cas’. Breathing in the smell of old dirt from his hair. There was no hurry to move. No hurry to go further with their plan. 

Crowley kissed the tousled mess. “I’ve got you, Cas. You just stay here with me. Saving the world can wait…” Preferably forever.

***

“So,” Crowley said, magnanimously not setting fire to Dean for walking off with his boyfriend. ‘We need to talk’ indeed. Who did he think he was? He was just Dean Winchester, after all. Just Dean. Not like he was Cas’ _lover_ who was going to have to _brutally murder him_ or anything. “Did you enjoy Paris?”

“It… yeah it was okay,” Sam replied. “I think I might have enjoyed it a bit better if I spoke French, but you didn’t really give us much time.”

“You know, I’ll let you in on a secret… all you need to do is learn a few fumbling words. As soon as they hear your accent, they will all be dying to test out their English on you, and you’ll not be considered a heathen because you at least _tried_ to speak their lingo.”

“Wow. Okay. That’s actually really interesting.”

“Not really.”

“No… not really.” Sam shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, and Crowley wondered how long he could just stand there silently making him more and more uncomfortable. He smiled sweetly. Sam just… stared back at him.

Eventually Sam gave up. “You… you want a coffee?” 

“No, but thank you.”

“I take it… everything’s sorted for… the plan?”

“You mean the plan where I brutally murder the love of my life? Oh yes. We even have the perfect honeymoon spot picked out. I’ve just got to do some shopping for some hawaiian shirts and shorts, then we’re good to go.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Convince Cas it’s a ridiculous idea?”

“I don’t think he’ll listen to me. If he won’t listen to you - or Dean - then… you’re… you’re stuck with it. But… it’s not like you can’t bring him back if it goes right?”

Crowley walked over to the breakfast table and slid onto one of the stools so he didn’t have to look at Sam’s earnest, worried face any more. “No.”

“No?”

“Apparently it’s not a sacrifice if I just kill him and resurrect him. I have to kill him dead. I mean… completely dead. Beyond repair dead. It’s not an easy thing to do, but there you have it.”

“Wow. Well. If it’s any consolation, even dead-dead isn’t really… dead.”

“I’m aware of that. You three seem to have the monopoly on the Hokey Pokey.” Crowley rubbed a hand over his mouth and breathed slow and even. 

“It’ll be okay, man.”

“Your faith is not reassuring to me.”

“Well… we can all laugh about it after.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “But why don’t you tell me what’s really got your goat?”

“You mean the imminent death of my beloved isn’t motivation enough for me to feel a little less than stellar?”

“You’re making the face you make when there’s something you’re not saying.”

“I do not make a face.”

“You totally do.”

“I’m the King of Hell. I don’t make faces.”

“Well, you’re not-making it now. Come on… I know you won’t talk to Dean about it, and I’m guessing you’re protecting Cas, too. So… tell me.”

Crowley ran his fingers over the tiny little occlusions in the breakfast counter. They caught the light if you tilted your head just right. If you were feeling whimsical, you could call it pixie dust. He was not feeling whimsical. 

“I know it has to be me. It has to be me, because… martyrdom is not suicide. Self-sacrifice is not a knife over the wrists. Well. For the Romans, maybe, but not for…” He looked up at the ceiling. “And I know I’m already damned. I do. I’m… well you _know_. But it feels… it feels wrong to do it. And if… _if_ a demon _were_ hypothetically _potentially_ to be attempting to… be less demonic… it would be something of a… hypocrisy and a step back and a…” 

Crowley looked up. “I don’t know how any ‘good’ and ‘kind’ and ‘loving’ God could ever ask something like this. Of anyone. I know he existed. Or something existed. I just can’t reconcile the two.”

“That’s because you’re just as flawed as all of us.”

“So you’re saying if I was perfect then I would understand why God’s an utter twat?”

“Maybe…”

“I knew there were lots of reasons I didn’t go to church.”

“Yeah. Well. I guess we just hope He’s really not bad, underneath it all. And if He is…” Sam shrugged. “Well we’re screwed anyway.”

“Sod it. I’ll have a coffee. But only if you put enough Tia Maria in to get it down my gullet.”

“Okay… but will whisky do?”

Crowley sighed. “Fine. But you really are a Philistine.”

***

“What’s this?” 

Cas knew exactly what ‘this’ was - it was an apple/cherry pie and it looked delicious and… actually, authentically homebaked. The latter was the bewildering part.

“It’s pie,” Dean shoved the plate towards Cas. “You should eat it, right?” _No sense in dying on an empty stomach_ , Dean thought. _It was the least I could do_ , Dean should have said. Instead what he said was, “Here, a fork.”

“Did… you make this?” Cas tilted his head suspiciously towards the pie then off to the side to stare at Dean with that mile long stare he was so proficient at.

“Look, just don’t make a big deal, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas assented and reached for the fork. He took a small bite - the crust was flaky and crumbled deliciously against his tongue, the filling was just the right balance of sweet and tart. “It’s really… Dean, you shouldn’t have.”

“Shut up and eat your pie.”

“I thought,” Cas said, chewing and swallowing, “You said you wanted to talk.”

“We _are_ talking,” Dean pronounced gruffly.

“Dean, is this about the sacrifice? Because you shouldn’t worry. Worst thing that can happen is I actually die, and well, that’s nothing you haven’t lived through before.”

“You weren’t _there_ ,” Dean shot out suddenly. “You don’t _know_.” He shook his head. “Nothing about you dying before was alright, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas repeated stupidly again.

“Either way, Cas. If you die - well, you die. And if you’re brought back, you’re an angel again. And the thing is…” Dean scratched the back of his head. “The thing is, I liked having you here. With us, I mean. Cas, you’re family. And I don’t wanna lose you. Not again.”

“Surely, I’ve done nothing but enrage and inconvenience you,” Cas muttered, taking another bite of the delicious homemade pastry.

“Yeah, man. That’s what family does.” Dean gave him a sad smile and reached out to take his hand in his. “This isn’t a romantic overture,” he declared somberly, “So tell your demon boyfriend not to kill me if he barges in. I just need you to know, no matter what happens, Cas… I care. And I meant what I said to you before - I need you. Not because of how _useful_ you are, but because I lo… ugh...hm.”

“Okay, I get it, jeez. Don’t pull a muscle. I love you too, Dean.” Cas shot a quick glance towards the door - this would have been the worst possible moment for Crowley to pop in. He squeezed Dean’s hand. “Thank you. For everything.” He grinned. “For the pie. It’s a really good pie.”

“Don’t you fucking die on me forever, you hear me?”

“I hear you, Dean.”

Cas ate the rest of the pie in silence, feeling the weight of Dean’s eyes on him as surely as he’s been feeling the weight of the Fall on his shoulders. He didn’t want to leave his friends, or his lover, or this world: truthfully, he had become rather fond of it all. Dean was right, they _were_ family, a rather dysfunctional one at that, but family none the less. He picked up the last of the crumbs with his thumb and sucked them off before pushing the empty plate towards Dean.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. We should get back,” Cas got up off the chair and made a movement towards the door when Dean caught him by the elbow and pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace.

“One for the road,” the elder Winchester whispered into Cas’ ear, and Cas smiled and wrapped his arms around Dean’s broad shoulders as well.

When they finally emerged, Crowley was drinking straight from the bottle at the counter, and Sam was looking worried. 

“Oh good. I was worried you weren’t coming back,” the younger brother said. He walked over awkwardly and… well… his hands sort of came up and went back down again in a ‘shit what do I do now’ sort of a way. “Did he like the pie?”

“Sam,” Cas fixed the younger Winchester with a determined stare, “I don’t care if it’s going to be awkward, but I’m going to hug you now.” With that dramatic pronouncement, Cas approached Sam and wrapped his arms around his broad and obscenely tall form, his nose poking uncomfortably into his friend’s collarbone.

“Yup, pie was good,” Dean confirmed curtly, watching Cas and Sam with a warm look, then shooting another, more concerned one towards the demon by the counter.

“Yeah… okay…” Sam apparently took that as all the permission he needed, hugging Cas as hard as he would Dean. And leaning back a little to make him stand on tip-toes. “It’s… just come back all suped up, alright? Then all the bitching will have been for something good.”

“Have we finished having our heartwarming Winchester goodbyes?” Crowley asked, twirling the bottle around by the neck. “Is this what you do every year? I suppose it’s a good luck ritual by now so perhaps I should be less disgusted by the saccharine.”

“Ignore him,” Cas pointed to Crowley. “He’s just grumpy because he loves me and doesn’t want to have to slaughter me in the desert.”

“I’ll give him a free pass,” Dean shrugged, almost kindly, and rummaged around the shelves for something equally as strong as what Crowley was having. This whole day was giving him the heebie-jeebies already and they hadn’t even left their home yet.

“That’s very kind of you.” Crowley put a hand on his chest and did a tiny little bow. “I’m always happy to slaughter innocent loved ones in the name of the great I-Am.”

Cas extricated himself from Sam’s embrace and cautiously approached his lover, stroking a hand over the arm that was feverishly clutching at the bottle of whisky.

“Hey,” was all Cas said, but he figured, at this point, that was really all he needed to say. He took the bottle from Crowley’s grasp and used his free hand to turn the demon’s chin to face him. Cas ran his fingers along Crowley’s jaw, then up towards his cheekbones, then curling over the cartilage of his ears, as if by the simple gestures to somehow soothe the hurricane raging inside.

Crowley pushed his head into Cas’ shoulder. His eyes were closed and he was clenching his jaw tight enough to crack a US Marine trained in interrogation resistance. He refused to stop being tense, but he did submit to being petted. Maybe if he didn’t say anything, then they could just stay here until he said he was okay? Yep. Denial. Egypt did not have the monopoly.

Cas pulled him closer, mouthing at his temple, then at soft tops of his ears, nose burrowing in Crowley’s hair. He felt his own heart beating too fast and he shut his eyes. He didn’t want the others to see him like this. He didn’t want to _seem_ like this, period. He shouldn’t be afraid. He felt Crowley tense up in his embrace, no doubt due to being able to sense his own apprehension.

“We should go,” Cas whispered. Get this over with. Take me away from here. Crowley’s eyes were his only life-line. He didn’t dare look at the Winchesters for fear of what he’d find there: doubt and a lingering farewell.

Crowley sighed and stood up. “Keep the light on, boys. If all goes well we’ll be back and wanting a celebratory piss-up.” He wrapped his arms around Cas and vanished them out before anyone could say any different.

***

The sun has started to set by the time they arrived in the Holy Land. It would be beautiful if they were there for any other reason. Crowley hadn’t been around in the day, so it was impossible for him to find anywhere really significant, but he wasn’t all that bothered. The place they chose shouldn’t have been anyone else’s, it should only be for them. 

Dust and sand and fading heat as far as the eye could see. Nothing else. They didn’t need anything else. Crowley held on for longer than he had to, but eventually he had to let go and step back.

“Still time to run away with me to Hell… or… well. We could do Rome? Or…Capri? Or…?”

“We can still do that. After I come back.” Cas looked around the desert somewhat restlessly. “This is it? No altar? Not even a rock?” One of his hands reached up and started to unbutton his shirt.

“This isn’t good for you?” Crowley put his hand over Cas’. “We could keep shopping. Find somewhere better. It might take us some time…”

“Crowley,” Cas muttered and shook his head, avoiding his lover’s eyes. “Get on with it.” He gently brushed the fingers of his hand against Crowley’s and undid another button.

“Allow me…” He pulled Cas’ hands back and carried on the unbuttoning himself. It was a very nice white shirt. It was not going to stay a very nice white shirt. When it was open all the way to the end, he laid his palm flat over Cas’ heart. “Now… I… how do you want to do this?”

Cas pressed Crowley’s hand to his chest with his own, trying to keep his fingers from trembling.

“Uh… I lie down. You say the incantation and kiss my ass goodbye?” He’d learned this from the Winchesters, how to mask his pain with sarcasm. “Just… let’s do this. Chef’s choice, okay?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.” Crowley sat down and patted the ground beside him. “Come here.”

The sand felt warm beneath Castiel’s palms as he crouched down next to Crowley. He watched it for a few moments running past his fingers, the sun shedding a warm orange light onto the shimmering surface. Soon it would run red.

Crowley held his arm across Cas’ chest and waited for him to hold on, and when he did he pushed the angel backwards to lie sideways over his legs. He ran his other hand over Cas’ forehead and stared down at him. Now was when you said things, right? When you said the deep and meaningful stuff. When you made it all… right. Crowley didn’t have anything prepared, and he found that inspiration didn’t hit. 

Fuck. Fuck it all. Fuck everything, including God. Especially God. Fuck God sideways. With a cheesegrater. And hot sauce for lubricant. And then afterwards don’t even pay God for the fucking, and steal all His shit from His wallet. And then write rude graffiti in the bathrooms about how He was a terrible lay. And had Daddy Issues. 

“I love you,” Cas whispered, knowing it might not be the best time to say that again, and probably not the finest thing to say. He probably should’ve said something horrid and petty to Crowley, maybe something to rile him up, maybe something about how hot Dean’s ass looked in his favorite pair of jeans. Instead, Cas clenched his fingers tighter around Crowley’s arm and whispered, “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. We’ll both be.”

Very nasty thoughts along the lines of ‘why don’t you try brutally murdering me and seeing how _you_ feel about it?’ were swimming through his head. He wasn’t quite heartless enough to voice them, however. 

“I hate…” You. I hate you for making me love you. I hate you for making me do this. I hate you for making me feel good only to take it all away and remind me what a monster I am. “Cas… please… just… don’t.” He shut his eyes and turned his head up to the dying sun. “And come back. I don’t give a damn if you come back wingless. Just come back.”

He reached into his suit jacket with one hand and retrieved the horrible, nasty, cursed, ugly, stupid, evil blade. The one with all the incantations carved into the hilt. The one with all the words said over it. The one which was specifically designed for killing people more dead than a dead thing dead. Beyond coming back dead. Why such a thing even existed, Crowley wasn’t sure. God being an Ineffable Dickhead, probably. 

He looked down at Cas, giving him… giving him one last chance to say something. Do something. Fix this. There was no thunderclap from the heavens. There was no suddenly incandescent shrubbery. There was no suicidal lamb bounding up to take Cas’ place. It was just the Lord of Hell and a broken angel and the start of an evening the same as any other. “Cas…”

Cas looked up, his lapis blue eyes focusing on Crowley’s amber, radiating the warm glow of their familiar heat into the twilight.

He wanted to say those words again that felt empty, because he knew that he was making his lover do the most awful thing he could’ve asked him to do, so what kind of love was that? What was all this, anyways? For a moment, he thought about plunging the knife into his own heart; it wouldn’t have satisfied the parameters of the ritual, but it sure as hell would have been something he deserved. He opened his mouth to speak, and instead of saying what he really wanted to say, he began to recite the incantation himself. It was the least he could do.

Crowley swallowed against the tightness in his throat and forced his voice out to catch up with Cas’. He wasn’t sure if it would fail if he didn’t say the words, and hearing Cas say them too gave him some kind of strength. Broken, still, but… resigned. Not resolute.

His eyes found Cas’, and though he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. He was as transfixed as a small animal in the headlights. Prey before a snake. He was the snake. Cas was the one who would die. He moved his hand, lining up the knife. He didn’t need to look for the right place because he could hear it pounding away and it was like a homing beacon. The tip of the blade pushed into skin without cutting… just pressing in against the soft give of flesh. The words were drawing to an end; the horrible, nasty, permanent words which would forever taste of ash and loss. Crowley’s hand began to shake and he held Cas down with his other - half to steady himself as much as to steady Cas. 

And then it was time. He hesitated for the tiniest of seconds where he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. Just one beat. One more pound of Cas’ heart. And then with all the apology in the world in his eyes, Crowley thrust the knife through Cas’ chest, through his ribcage, into his heart. For all of two seconds it hurt, but then the grief he felt was too much and he couldn’t see Cas suffer - couldn’t - and no matter if it damned them both and ruined the ceremony because no one had said anything about pain, he pushed into Cas and drove all the hurt from him in one fell swoop.

Cas’ eyes flew open and he saw the twilit sky above him, the distant twinkling of the first stars. It was strange, not feeling any pain. But then his eyes fixed on Crowleys and he understood why. His mouth felt dry and almost disconnected from him. A metallic taste began to permeate everything. He moved his hand, it didn’t have far to go, to wrap his fingers around Crowley’s fingers, still clutching the hilt of the knife. “Thank you,” he tried to whisper, but he wasn’t sure what came out, possibly just the trickle of blood out of the corner of his mouth. He felt sleepy, his lids felt heavy, and he forced them open one more time to fix his eyes on Crowley’s lips.

“I love you,” Crowley said at last, and pulled the knife free in one short, sharp movement. He knew the longer it stayed in, the longer this would drag out. He didn’t want it to drag out. He wanted it to be over. It was the single most horrific thing he could remember experiencing… and he’d sold his soul to Hell. Perhaps this was his final punishment. Perhaps all the torment in the pit was just a warm up, so God could one day pay him back by destroying him utterly. Giving him hope and then ripping it from his hands. He put his hand over the wound and felt the blood pounding out beneath it. He didn’t look. His eyes were on Cas’. He didn’t even blink.

He was smiling, or at least, he thought he was. It felt just like going to sleep in Crowley’s embrace, just as he had said earlier. He repeated the words in his own head, _I love you_ , as if they were some kind of a magical incantation of their own, _I’m coming back to you_ he promised silently. _Wait for me_ , he wanted to say. _Wait…_

Crowley knew the moment it happened. He’d be able to tell even without all the power invested in him through evil and horror. It just… one minute you were alive, the next… not. And none of his powers would be enough to bring Cas back. He could literally burn through every single soul in Hell and it would do nothing. Cas’ hands fell from his arm, and Crowley pulled his lifeless body up and into his arms. He was still bleeding rather heavily and would continue to do so, he guessed. One arm around his waist, the other holding his head up. The minute he let go, he knew he’d fall like a puppet with the strings cut. It wasn’t Cas now, it was just an empty shell.

He had no way to stop the tears that burst out: tears that had been brimming inside him since Cas had first told him of his damn fool plan. He screamed and threw his head back to stare accusingly at the heavens.

“You! You… I…” He wanted to bellow anger and hatred at the sky. Wanted to split the firmament open and find wherever that douchebag of a divinity was sitting and watching them like some malevolent and mostly absent Sims player. But the rage just… fell apart and he found other words slipped out instead.

“I… look. I don’t know how to do this. I’m - I was never a religious man. If I didn’t go to Hell I would never have believed you even _existed_. And I know I have no right - no right of anyone on the planet - to ask you for anything. But if you’re up there, and if you’re listening, and you give any kind of shit about the things you say you love and made… Just please, God, please bring him back. Don’t punish him for loving me. Take it out on me. Bring him back and have him hate me. Bring him back because for all he fucked up, he never did anything except for love. So you just… just… this once do something right…? And… I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll save kittens. I’ll save puppies. I’ll save kittens _with_ puppies. Just…” He dropped his head onto Cas’ shoulder and cried several hundred years’ worth of tears, voice utterly gone.

He had made Cas wet, wet from his tears, and from the torrential outpouring of his blood, and he was just an amalgam of meat and bones, but so very beloved nevertheless that it made no sense to let him go. He didn’t even drop him when he heard the thundering all around him. Perhaps the firmaments were actually opening up, perhaps this whole thing…

The ground shook. And, suddenly, the sand around him had begun to blow, not into dainty little sand flurries, but out, horizontally, as if something was blowing it out in a 360 degree arch, something from the pits of the Earth itself. Crowley shielded his eyes against the onslaught of flying debris and clutched the lifeless body to himself still, refusing to relinquish it.

At last, the hurricane abated, only to be replaced by a piercing glow and then a noise so high pitched and mind-shuddering that Crowley thanked Lucifer for not having functional ear drums. If he listened close enough though…

“Baby, it’s me.”

Granted, he should have maybe led with something more bombastic upon the occurrence of his resurrection, but it seemed… fitting, somehow. Luckily, Crowley had shut his eyes - it wouldn’t have done to burn his eyes out with his celestial glow. But he had hoped, at least, that his powers would be sufficient to allow Crowley to hear him, even if he was using his true voice.

“Put the body down, let me back in. Hey. Come on. I might hurt you like this.”

...Cas? Crowley shuddered under the onslaught. He could tell - even with his eyes closed - that Castiel was all around him. Could _feel_ him there, in more than just the wind and the booming voice in the air. He’d never seen his true form free of a vessel, even if he could always see the blurred halo and wings that no one else could. He didn’t want to put Cas down. He irrationally wanted to keep tight hold of him - to force Cas to slide back into his arms - but he was just a demon, after all, and not one of the angelic host. And perhaps Cas was right. Perhaps he would get burned.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hurt me any more than you already have. At least until tomorrow.” He gently eased the limp and bloodless body to the ground, arm up to shield his eyes, and waited.

Cas… Cas was… he was really back?

It was like slipping back into a pair of worn house slippers. With the body devoid of its original host for several iterations now, Cas did not need an official invitation. And he was fond of that vessel - it had, after all, been the only body he possessed, last time around. He poured comfortably back into the limbs, feeling the joints, the fascia, the muscles coming back to life from coming in contact with celestial life force. His chest wound was closing. His eyes flew open.

His arm shot out and grabbed Crowley by the sleeve. 

Cas gasped and sat up like a Jack-in-the-box.

“Metatron! I’m going to kill that slimy weasel!”

“Well it’s good to see you, too,” Crowley answered, his expression wry underneath the tear-tracks still blurring through the sand on his face. “Could we at least get a change of clothes before we wreak bloody vengeance down on our foes?”

Truth be told, Crowley was… not feeling… entirely right. Or himself. Even though Cas was back - and that was a _good_ thing - the memory of him bleeding out in his arms… the lights going in his eyes… the… loss… It wasn’t a case of blink and shake it off. It had hurt. It had hurt deeper than it had any right to do. And he wasn’t quite ready to face the world as a whole just yet, let alone Heaven and Hell.

Cas stretched out his limbs, fingers, toes even, feeling everything coming back online slowly. He listened to something within himself, trying to see how it would be different, this time around. Trying to feel for the scabs for his last incarnation. His grace jumped a little in his vessel’s throat, causing his entire body to jerk. It was reaching out for Crowley. Cas smiled.

“I heard you, you know. Praying. It was before I was quite - myself - again.”

“Oh. That. Well… I figured… I guessed it wouldn’t hurt. Hopefully no one will hold me to it. I hate kittens.” But… he smiled anyway. He reached out to brush a bloodied hand over Cas’ cheek. “You will just have to forgive me being a sentimental old fool.”

Castiel leaned into the touch. Strange. It felt the same, yet, somehow different. He was a guest in this house again, he understood: this body was just a vessel, the angel inside beat against the flesh like a cage. It would take him some time to get acclimated again. 

When his Father brought him back, the first thing Castiel did was stretch out to his full height, straddle several stratospheres and sing in triumph to the highest echelons of all creation. He may have caused an uninhabited planet to explode from his sheer glee. That’s when he heard it, a thread seeping through the cosmos, of the profoundest grief. A pain so keen that it made him weep waterfalls (he may have, in fact, engendered new life on another previously uninhabited planet just from the outpouring of his tears). And then he remembered.

He pulled Crowley close, his own blood-soaked shirt still unbuttoned and being savaged by the desert winds, chest to chest now, hands flying up to caress his lover’s back, his neck, to run fingers through his hair, to brush sand off his tear-stained cheeks with his own lips.

“Heaven can wait a little,” Cas whispered, lips still gently brushing past the demon’s eyebrows, his nose, avoiding his lips only because he knew that there would be no more talking if they touched. “You look like Hell, Crowley. And I don’t mean it ironically.”

"You don't look all that great yourself, strudel. Although as a dead man walking I suppose you are." Still, it was good to have Cas touch him. He pressed into his hands like the kittens he claimed to despise. With the hands on him, he carefully removed the bloody evidence from his torso and shirt, leaving him clean but half-dressed. Another thought and the blood on himself left. 

"So... I..." Suppose you didn't stop loving me after all... "Guess we should go show your pet humans that God really does love his prodigal offspring?" 

"Yeah," Cas replied, voice barely above a whisper. "Just... give me a minute to get my bearings."

What he meant by that was actually ‘I don't need to breathe anymore, so let me kiss you like I've never kissed you before.’

***

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
